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(As, true thou tell'ft me ;) when I fay, I love her:
But faying thus, instead of oil and bilm,

Thou lay'ft, in every gash that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.

Troi. Thou doft not speak so much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as fhe is, if fhe be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Troi. Good Pandarus; how now, Pandarus?

Pan. I have had my labour for my travel, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Troi. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; and fhe were not kin to me, fhe would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an fhe were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

Troi. Say I, fhe is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no, She's a fool to stay behind her father: let her to the Greeks, and fo I'll tell her the next time I fee her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i'th' matter.

Trio. Pandarus,

Pan. Not I.

Troi. Sweet Pandarus,

Pan. Pray you, fpeak no more to me; I will leave all' as I found it, and there's an end.

[Exit Pandarus. [Sound Alarum ..

Troi. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude founds !! Fools on both fides. Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus.

I cannot fight upon this argument,

It is too ftarv'da fubject for my

fword:

But PandarusO Gods! how do you plague me !!
I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandar ;,
And he's as teachy to be woo'd to wooe,
As he is ftubborn-chaft against all fute.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Crefid is, what Pandar, and what we :-
Her bed is India, there fhe lyes, a pearl ::
Q. 5

Between

Between our Ilium, and where fhe refides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Our self the merchant, and this failing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
Enter Æneas.

[Alarum.]

Ene. How now, Prince Troilus?wherefore not i'th' field? Trai. Because not there; this woman's answer forts, For womanifh it is to be from thence:

What news, Æneas, from the field to day?

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Troi. By whom, Æneas?

Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Trai. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a fcar to fcorn:

Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarum. Ene. Hark, what good sport is out of town to day? Troi. Better at home, if would I might, were may→

But to the fport abroad

Ene. In all fwift hafte.

are you bound. thither?

Troi. Come, go we then together.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a publick Street, near the Walls of Troy.

Enter Creffida, and Alexander, ber Servant.

Cre. Ser. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
W
WHO were those went by?

Cre. And whither go they?

Ser. Up to th' eaftern tower,

Whofe height commands as fubject all the vale,
To fee the fight. Hector, whofe patience
Is, as the Virtue, fix'd, to day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and ftruck his armorer;
And like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the Sun rofe, he was harness-dight, (2)

And

(1) Before the Sun rose, he was harneft light,] Why harneft light? Does the Poet mean, that Hector had put on light Ar mour? Or that he was (prightly in his Arms, even before Sun

And to the field goes he; where ev'ry flower
Did as a prophet weep what it forefaw,

In Hector's wrath.

Cre. What was his caufe of anger?

Ser. The noife goes thus; There is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector,

They call him Ajax.

Cre. Good; and what of him?

Ser. They fay, he is a very man per fe, and stands

alone.

Cre. So do all men, unless they are drunk, fick, or have no legs.

Ser. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lyon, churlish as the bear, flow as the elephant; a man into whom Nature hath fo crouded humours, that his valour is crusht into folly, his folly fauced with difcretion: there is no man hath a virtue, that he has not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome ftain of it. He is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair; he hath the joints of every thing, but every thing fo out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no afe; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.

Cre. But how fhould this man, that makes me fmile, make Hector angry?

Ser. They fay, he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and ftruck him down, the disdain and fhame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fafting and waking.

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?

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rife? Or is a Conundrum aim'd at, in Sun rofe, and harnest Light? A very flight Alteration makes all these Constructions unneceffary, and gives us the Poet's meaning in the propereft Terms imaginable.

Before the Sun rofe, he was harness-dight,

i. e. compleatly dreft, accoutred, in Arms. It is frequent with our Poet, from his Mafters Chaucer and Spenser, to say dight for deck'd pight, for pitch'd; &c. and from them too he uses Harness for Armour.

Ser.

Ser. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cre. Hector's a gallant man.

Ser. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cre. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good-morrow, coufin Creffid; what do you talk of? (3) Good morrow, Alexander;-- how do you, coufin? when were you at Ilium?

Cre. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came ? was Hector arm'd and gone, ere you came to Ilium? Helen was not up? was fhe?

Cre. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.

Pan. E'en fo; Hector was stirring early.

Cre. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?

Cre. So he fays, here.

Pan True, he was fo; I know the caufe too: he'll lay about him to day, I can tell them that; and there's Troilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

(3) Good morrow, confin Creffid; What do you talk of? Good morrow, ALEXANDER; How do you, confin?] Good morrow, Alexanderis added in all the Editions, says

Mr. Pope, very abfurdly, Paris not being on the Stage.Wonderful Acutenefs! But, with Submiffion, this Gentleman's Note is much more abfurd: for it falls out very unluckily for his Remark, that tho' Paris is, for the Generality, in Homer call'd Alexander; yet, in this Play, by any one of the Characters introduc'd, he is call'd nothing but Paris. The Truth of the Fact is this. Pandarus is of a bufy, impertinent, infinuating Character; and 'tis natural for him, fo foon as he has given his Coufin the good morrow, to pay his Civilities too to her Attendant. This is purely 've, as the Grammarians call it; and gives us an admirable Touch of Pandarus's Chara&ter; And why might not Alexander be the Name of Creffid's Man? Paris had no Patent, 1 fuppofe, for engroffing it to himself, But the late Editor, perhaps, because we have had Alexander the Great, Pope Alexander, and Alexander Pope, would not have fo eminent a Name proftituted to a common Valet.

Cre.

Troilus is the better man of

Cre. What is he angry too?
Pan. Who, Troilus?-

the two.

Cre. Oh, Jupiter! there's no comparison..

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? do you know a man, if you fee him?

Cre. Ay, if I ever faw him before, and knew him.
Pan. Well, I fay, Troilus is Troilus..

Cre. Then you fay, as I fay; for, I am fure, he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in fome degrees. Cre. 'Tis juft to each of them, he is himself.

Pan. Himfelf? alas, poor Troilus! I 'would, he were.
Cre. So he is.

Pan. 'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India.
Cre. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himfelf? no, he's not himself; 'would, he were himself! well, the Gods are above; time must friend, or end; well, Troilus, well, I would, my heart were in her body! no, Hestor is not a better man than

Troilus.

Cre. Excufe me.

Pan. He is elder..

Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale, when th' other's come to't: Hector fhall

not have his wit this year.

Cre. He fhall not need it, if he have his own.

Pan. Nor his Qualities.

Cre. No matter.

Pan. Nor his beauty.

Cre. 'Twould not become him, his own's better.

Pan. You have no judgment, Neice; Helen herself fwore th other day, that Troilus for a brown favour, (for fo 'tis, I must confefs), not brown neither

Cre. No, but brown.

Pan. Faith, to fay truth, brown and not brown.
Cre. To fay the truth, true and not true.

Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris..
Cre. Why, Paris hath colour enough.

Pan.

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